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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535151">Sleeping with Giants</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt'>Gremkt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda?, Nightmares, hawke family memories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:13:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,464</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremkt/pseuds/Gremkt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver has a nightmare. His brother, lying on the other side of the room, isn’t falling for it when he says he’s ok.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carver Hawke &amp; Hawke, Carver Hawke &amp; Male Hawke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sleeping with Giants</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Pre-warning, there’s nothing super explicitly graphic but... it <i>is</i> a nightmare, full of a loootta guilt about Bethany and Ostagar &lt;3 with a lil bit of Hawke family fluff too, on top of the angst.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The noise was overwhelming, the clash of metal on metal, people and horses screaming in pain, anger, determination, the ever present sound of the Darkspawn army, advancing, moving closer with every passing moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carver’s sword hacked through the arm of one Darkspawn, a grotesque creature, one of the tens, hundreds even, already displaced by his weapons and the weapons of those around him and yet they still came. It felt like they would never end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beside him, a fellow soldier fell, crying out where he lay on the ground. Carver spared him a glance, his mouth set in a grim line at the sight that followed. The wound was fatal, no doubt about it, but the man clawed at his feet, desperate for help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Carver said. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do to save any of them. All of the people around him died, and they died again and again, every time he was here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Carver,” somebody called. “Carv, over here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clear voice cut through the noise and Carver’s blood ran cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bethany stood, illuminated by light amidst the darkness and chaos, everything seeming to slow around her as she waved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maker, give me strength,” she yelled with her characteristic sunny grin, grasping her staff with both hands as she sent a blast of magic towards the oncoming Darkspawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bethany, no,” he yelled, trying desperately to reach her. He couldn’t let anything happen to her. Not his sister. But the harder he tried to reach her, the further away she seemed. His legs were heavy, too heavy to keep going but he had to keep going. He had to get to Bethany. He had to save her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somebody grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. He spun to see his commanding officer, the man who had welcomed him, trained him, become somebody he cared about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re falling back,” he yelled over the noise. “We’ll take them another day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving,” Carver shouted back. He looked back at Bethany, the Darkspawn closing in around her. But the men were holding him, dragging him away. More men fell around him, the ugly faces of Darkspawn filling his vision. He yelled her name, yelled for anyone, desperately praying it would help. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she was gone, nothing but Darkspawn and death in the space that she had been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He jolted away, breathing rapid, skin cold and clammy. He wasn’t at Ostagar. He wasn’t in the battle. Instead he lay, safe, in the dark room he shared with his brother in Kirkwall, far away from the battlefields of Ostagar where the men had dragged him from the failed battle, from the roads outside Lothering where they had been forced to abandon his sister’s lifeless body. Where they had been unable to save her. Where </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been unable to save her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands shook and he wondered if he’d be able to reach some water without waking his brother, asleep in the bed on the other side of the room. It turned out it didn’t matter. He heard Garrett moving anyway and he felt a rush of guilt. His brother shouldn’t have to be woken by Carver’s nightmares every night, not like he was.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Carv? You ok?” He sounded groggy. Clearly he had not been awake long. Definitely Carver’s fault then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Just... thirsty.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause, the silence spreading through the dark room, and Carver wondered if Garrett had gone back to sleep. Perhaps he hadn’t been properly awake, just enough to mumble out the words. He wished he could get back to sleep, but then again, maybe that would just take him straight back to Ostagar. Maybe it was better to lie here awake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then he heard Garrett move again, the creak of his bedframe, the rustle of blankets. A step on the ground and then Garrett was closer, nudging his bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Move over,” he said. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sod off,” said Carver, indignant at the intrusion into his space despite the tremor in his body, the shaking he couldn’t quite seem to chase away, the lingering anxiety filling him. Garrett ignored him, sliding onto the bed behind him anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m cold,” he said, pressing closer. His arm snaked around Carver’s waist and while Carver wanted to object, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do that either. It was a comfort to have somebody there, holding him still and steady when he couldn’t do it himself, still bothered by the feelings the latest dream had stirred up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>You’d think he’d be used to them by now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead he just took a deep breath, trying to relax as Garrett rested his chin on Carver’s shoulder, trying to pretend that it wasn’t a comfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember when Father used to do this? When we were little?” Garrett asked and Carver almost smiled at the memory. Almost. Whenever one of the Hawke siblings were scared, sad, sick, they would crawl into their father’s bed or into his arms and he would hold them, whispering the stories his father used to tell him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carver had never admitted it to anyone, probably never would, but sometimes he was pretending. His father never knew the difference, but it was one of the only times Carver knew he would have his attention all to himself, no Garrett, no Bethany, no magic reminding him how he was different from them all. Just him and his father. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What was your favourite story?” Garrett whispered. “Mine was the one about the dragon with its treasure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carver snorted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course it was,” he whispered back, trying to keep his voice low. Uncle Gamlen would be even grumpier in the morning if they woke him and the other room wasn’t exactly far away in the tiny house. He paused for a moment before he answered properly. “I liked the ones Calenhad the Great.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bethany liked those ones too. The pair of them had spent a lot of time as children acting them out, secretly pleased when their father had watched them. Sometimes he’d even joined in. Sometimes Garrett had too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered if Garrett remembered that too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought lasted only a moment before the much more unpleasant memory of his dream washed it away, the memory of Bethany, getting further and further away on the battlefield as their defeat grew more and more imminent. Of Bethany’s life slipping away, unable to stop it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t true. Bethany wasn’t there. She hadn’t fallen to the Darkspawn at Ostagar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she was still gone. It still felt like a dagger through his heart every time he thought of her, of the lack of her. And the men who </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> fallen at Ostagar while he had fled, forced to flee by his peers before the blighted Darkspawn took their lives too… they were just pushing the dagger deeper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuddered, breath catching. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked the one about Calenhad and the giant,” Hawke said, the arm around Carver tightening ever so slightly he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it. “Do you remember it? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took Carver a moment to answer, trying to steady his breathing again before he did so, before it made his voice shake. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I used to be scared of the giant,” he said. Had Garrett remembered that? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t need to be scared now,” Garrett whispered, shifting slightly on the bed. “A long time ago, in the Exalted age, hundreds of years ago, lived Calenhad the Great, first King of Ferelden.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t exactly comfortable, the bed was small and both Carver and Garrett were not, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. Garrett’s voice was comforting, gave him something to focus on, to keep his thoughts busy. Even as sleep crept up and his brother’s voice faded into meaningless background noise, he didn’t mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he woke the next morning, he was alone. He stretched, enjoying the space around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morning,” Garrett said from across the room, already dressed for the day. “Sleep ok?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carver nodded, smiling gratefully even as he tried to avoid eye contact with his brother. He had slept ok, for part of the night anyway. Garrett probably knew that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something hit him in the face and he glared at his brother, throwing the item to the side. It seemed to be some kind of clothing. Hopefully something clean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good,” Garrett said. “We’re leaving soon and we’ll need your giant sword and thick skull.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t have to talk about last night. That was what Carver normally did when he woke, sweaty and scared, in the middle of the night, just pretended it didn’t happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, for once, he was grateful for his brother, and for the small room they now shared.</span>
</p>
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